The Conflict [102]
which crowd is the more worthless, the college amateurs at politics or these rotten old in-goods who can't get employment with either Kelly or House and, so, have joined us. By Jove, I'd rather be in with the out and out grafters --the regulars that make no bones of being in politics for the spoils. There's slimy hypocrisy over our crowd that revolts me. Not a particle of sincerity or conviction. Nothing but high moral guff.''
``Oh, but YOU'RE sincere, Davy,'' said Jane with twinkling eyes.
``Am I?'' said Davy angrily. ``I'm not so damn sure of it.'' Hastily, ``I don't mean that. Of course, I'm sincere--as sincere as a man can be and get anywhere in this world. You've got to humbug the people, because they haven't sense enough to want the truth.''
``I guess, Davy,'' said Jane shrewdly, ``if you told them the whole truth about yourself and your party they'd have sense enough--to vote for Victor Dorn.''
``He's a demagogue,'' said Davy with an angry jerk at his rein. ``He knows the people aren't fit to rule.''
``Who is?'' said Jane. ``I've yet to see any human creature who could run anything without making more or less of a mess of it. And--well, personally, I'd prefer incompetent honest servants to competent ones who were liars or thieves.''
``Sometimes I think,'' said Davy, ``that the only thing to do is to burn the world up and start another one.''
``You don't talk like a man who expected to be elected,'' said Jane.
``Oh--I'm worrying about myself--not about the election,'' said Hull, lapsing into sullen silence. And certainly he had no reason to worry about the election. He had the Citizen's Alliance and the Democratic nominations. And, as a further aid to him, Dick Kelly had given the Republican nomination to Alfred Sawyer, about the most unpopular manufacturer in that region. Sawyer, a shrewd money maker, was an ass in other ways, was strongly seized of the itch for public office. Kelly, seeking the man who would be the weakest, combined business with good politics; he forced Sawyer to pay fifty thousand dollars into the ``campaign fund'' in a lump sum, and was counting confidently upon ``milking'' him for another fifty thousand in installments during the campaign. Thus, in the natural order of things, Davy could safely assume that he would be the next mayor of Remsen City by a gratifyingly large majority. The last vote of the Workingmen's League had been made fifteen hundred. Though it should quadruple its strength at the coming election --which was most improbable--it would still be a badly beaten second. Politically, Davy was at ease.
Jane waited ten minutes, then asked abruptly:
``What's become of Selma Gordon?''
``Did you see this week's New Day?''
``Is it out? I've seen no one, and haven't been down town.''
``There was a lot of stuff in it against me. Most of it demagoguing, of course, but more or less hysterical campaigning. The only nasty article about me--a downright personal attack on my sincerity-- was signed `S. G.' ''
``Oh--to be sure,'' said Jane, with smiling insincerity. ``I had almost forgotten what you told me. Well, it's easy enough to bribe her to silence. Go offer yourself to her.''
A long silence, then Davy said: ``I don't believe she'd accept me.''
``Try it,'' said Jane.
Again a long pause. David said sullenly: ``I did.''
Selma Gordon had refused David Hull! Half a dozen explanations of this astounding occurrence rapidly suggested themselves. Jane rejected each in turn at a glance. ``You're sure she understood you?''
``I made myself as clear as I did when I proposed to you,'' replied Davy with a lack of tact which a woman of Jane's kind would never forget or forgive.
Jane winced, ignored. Said she: ``You must have insisted on some conditions she hesitated to accept.''
``On her own terms,'' said Davy.
Jane gave up trying to get the real reason from him, sought it in Selma's own words and actions. She inquired: ``What did she say? What reason did she give?''
``That she owed it to the cause of
``Oh, but YOU'RE sincere, Davy,'' said Jane with twinkling eyes.
``Am I?'' said Davy angrily. ``I'm not so damn sure of it.'' Hastily, ``I don't mean that. Of course, I'm sincere--as sincere as a man can be and get anywhere in this world. You've got to humbug the people, because they haven't sense enough to want the truth.''
``I guess, Davy,'' said Jane shrewdly, ``if you told them the whole truth about yourself and your party they'd have sense enough--to vote for Victor Dorn.''
``He's a demagogue,'' said Davy with an angry jerk at his rein. ``He knows the people aren't fit to rule.''
``Who is?'' said Jane. ``I've yet to see any human creature who could run anything without making more or less of a mess of it. And--well, personally, I'd prefer incompetent honest servants to competent ones who were liars or thieves.''
``Sometimes I think,'' said Davy, ``that the only thing to do is to burn the world up and start another one.''
``You don't talk like a man who expected to be elected,'' said Jane.
``Oh--I'm worrying about myself--not about the election,'' said Hull, lapsing into sullen silence. And certainly he had no reason to worry about the election. He had the Citizen's Alliance and the Democratic nominations. And, as a further aid to him, Dick Kelly had given the Republican nomination to Alfred Sawyer, about the most unpopular manufacturer in that region. Sawyer, a shrewd money maker, was an ass in other ways, was strongly seized of the itch for public office. Kelly, seeking the man who would be the weakest, combined business with good politics; he forced Sawyer to pay fifty thousand dollars into the ``campaign fund'' in a lump sum, and was counting confidently upon ``milking'' him for another fifty thousand in installments during the campaign. Thus, in the natural order of things, Davy could safely assume that he would be the next mayor of Remsen City by a gratifyingly large majority. The last vote of the Workingmen's League had been made fifteen hundred. Though it should quadruple its strength at the coming election --which was most improbable--it would still be a badly beaten second. Politically, Davy was at ease.
Jane waited ten minutes, then asked abruptly:
``What's become of Selma Gordon?''
``Did you see this week's New Day?''
``Is it out? I've seen no one, and haven't been down town.''
``There was a lot of stuff in it against me. Most of it demagoguing, of course, but more or less hysterical campaigning. The only nasty article about me--a downright personal attack on my sincerity-- was signed `S. G.' ''
``Oh--to be sure,'' said Jane, with smiling insincerity. ``I had almost forgotten what you told me. Well, it's easy enough to bribe her to silence. Go offer yourself to her.''
A long silence, then Davy said: ``I don't believe she'd accept me.''
``Try it,'' said Jane.
Again a long pause. David said sullenly: ``I did.''
Selma Gordon had refused David Hull! Half a dozen explanations of this astounding occurrence rapidly suggested themselves. Jane rejected each in turn at a glance. ``You're sure she understood you?''
``I made myself as clear as I did when I proposed to you,'' replied Davy with a lack of tact which a woman of Jane's kind would never forget or forgive.
Jane winced, ignored. Said she: ``You must have insisted on some conditions she hesitated to accept.''
``On her own terms,'' said Davy.
Jane gave up trying to get the real reason from him, sought it in Selma's own words and actions. She inquired: ``What did she say? What reason did she give?''
``That she owed it to the cause of